Last One Out
by Joon
Summary: The years pass with Owen watching. Spoilers through "A Day in the Death."
1. Chapter 1

Having recognized and accepted his permanent state of being undead, it dawned on Owen early on that eventually, it would just be him and Jack. It might take years, several possibly. But in the end, they would be the last ones standing as the original members of Torchwood Three. Despite understanding the concept in theory, when events began to make the theory into fact, Owen found he wasn't any more ready.

The first is Gwen. Three years into Owen's new life of having no life, Gwen and Tosh go out on a Weevil sighting that at this point is nearly a weekly occurrence. But this particular trio of Weevils is unusually crazed and one manages to knock the former policewoman into a brick wall. Two hours later, after she's taken straight to Emergency, Owen finds out from the doctor on her case that she's slipped into a coma with little hope for recovery.

Her husband Rhys sits by her, refusing to leave. When Jack comes to the hospital to see her, Ianto prefaces the visit by telling Rhys to remain calm and not interrupt. Rhys sucks in a harsh breath to demand how he's supposed to remain calm when his wife is as good as dead. But before he can launch into it, Jack leans over the rails of Gwen's bed and kisses her.

Five minutes later, Gwen's awake. The doctor skeptically and tentatively labels her recovery a miracle.

A week later, Gwen hands in her resignation.

"If it were just me, I'd stay," Gwen later tells Owen. It's just the two of them at a quiet pub, both of them the worse for wear. Gwen, having had to weather the storm of shouting and protests from Jack at her quitting, and Owen, having had to listen to the escalating voices all day. She nurses a pint in her hands while he rips at a wayward cocktail napkin. "I wouldn't leave if I only had me to think about," she says. "But Rhys…"

"It's not like you'd be any safer being a copper," Owen points out.

"It's not the same and you know it."

Owen pensively tosses the half shredded napkin to one side.

"He's my husband, Owen. And we'll be wanting kids one day," Gwen continues. "How am I supposed to raise a family with the job I have now? I'd have to lie to my own children. I'd put them in danger because of what I do."

"Bet you could make it work if you wanted," Owen says, feeling a shade immature, but knowing it was nowhere close to what Jack had displayed.

Gwen fixes him with a look that's at both apologetic and defiant. "Has anyone at Torchwood ever been able?"

Owen can't come up with a single example. So instead he straightens in his seat and leans over to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He could still remember how a few years ago, he hadn't even been able to be in the same room with her without having fantasies about what positions and for how long. Now all that attraction and cruel tension were gone and replaced with something Owen realized was worth the grieving he knew he'd go through now that she was leaving.

"I'd ask you name one of your kids after me, but…that would be pointless," he says with a weak smile. Seeing the teary expression on Gwen's face, he quickly amends. "Have a big family. Lots of daughters I can check up on," he adds with a lascivious look. " 'Cause you know when they're all grown, I'll still be as handsome as ever."

Gwen laughs. "Thought nothing was working."

"But I've still got my imagination, Cooper. I've still got my imagination."

The next day, Gwen clears out her work station. Jack stays in his office the entire time, despite Ianto's efforts to draw him out. Gwen's putting the last of her photos in a regulation box when Ianto exits from Jack's silent office. He gives her a wan smile that she returns with accepted defeat. Jack only comes out when she's ready to leave. He'll be seeing her home to Rhys and will administer the retcon to both of them as per his duty as team leader. He stands by, his face impassive while Gwen hugs the remaining members. As Owen embraces her for one last time, he forces himself to silently promise he wouldn't stalk her over the CCTV. That after she exits the cog door, that was going to be it. He would let her go as he would eventually have to let them all go.

But as he watches her leave, Owen knows he wouldn't be able to keep that promise.

* * *

Despite four months going by after Gwen's departure, Jack won't hire someone to replace her. Owen complains about being overworked, but he knows his argument doesn't hold as much weight since he personally doesn't have to eat or sleep anymore. Still, he appeals to Jack's humane nature by citing the worn out looks on Tosh and Ianto's faces these days.

When that doesn't work, he calls an unofficial meeting between himself, Ianto and Tosh at the pub again to appeal to Ianto's powers of persuasion.

"Talk to him," he orders the Welshman. "Get him to hire someone."

"I've already talked to him about it," Ianto replies, tiredly. "He just needs some time to get used to idea."

"It's been four months!" Owen snaps.

The three are huddled at a table by the corner. While Ianto and Tosh nurse their drinks, Owen keeps his hands busy by flipping beer mats from the edge of table and catching them one-handed.

"It's not that much more work than what we had before when Jack left," Tosh points out.

"Yeah, only then we had four active agents," Owen argues. "I can't even go with the three of you on half the field missions we get. We're one and a half man short."

"Jack was always afraid that Gwen'd choose Rhys over Torchwood one day," Ianto states, his face neutral. "And it's happened. He'll snap out of it eventually. We just have to wait it out."

"Look, as impressive as your coffee making talents are, let's face it," Owen says. "The best skill you've got going is your ability to sway Jack. Now's the time to use it. He has to get over it that Gwen's not coming back."

Ianto gives him a wry look that's heavily laced with bitterness. "I'm touched at your faith in my abilities, Owen. But no one can make Jack do what he doesn't want to."

"You were able to convince him to adjust the budget for the new computer hard drives," Tosh offers in hopes of instilling some confidence in him.

Owen stares at her incredulously and Tosh fiddles awkwardly with the stem of her wine glass. "What? Just trying to help," she mutters.

"It's not the same thing," Ianto replies. "It never was when it came to Gwen," he adds.

Owen's certain Jack's been keeping tabs on Gwen since her departure. He can't really confront him about it since he's done pretty much the same during his spare time. He's seen footage of her, happy, smiling and content in her new life. Or rather, her old life when the most she ever knew about aliens was what she saw on "The X-Files." More than once Owen had the urge to orchestrate a chance meeting with her. An innocent bumping into her shoulder. A casual asking of the time. Anything, just to see if maybe perhaps...But all such thoughts he works hard to kill so he could move on and he wishes Jack would do the same.

"Just take one for the bloody team and withhold sex until he sees reason," Owen demands. "Don't look at me like that, you know it'd work."

"Owen, just wait it out," Ianto says with some finality.

The defeatist attitude in Ianto's tone takes the wind out of Owen's sails. "Fine," he grumbles. "It's going to take one of us losing an arm before he comes around. And you just know it's gonna be me with my shit luck."

Owen's wrong on both counts, however, and Jack's belated wake up call comes in the form of Ianto being killed while the four of them are out on the field.

It's another set of sleeper agents and by the time Owen manages to blow the attacker's head off, his blade-like arm has already gone completely through Ianto's chest, exiting out his back. He's dead before Owen can even organize in his head what he has to do to stop the bleeding. The arm is so deeply embedded, Owen can't remove it unless he can bring himself to put a foot on Ianto's shoulder to get some leverage to yank it out.

He can't.

Instead, he activates his Bluetooth and hesitates, dreading it, but forces himself to talk.

"Jack. Ianto's dead."

When doesn't he hear a reply, he thinks it's the calm before the storm. But then Tosh's shaking voice comes in. "Jack's been killed. The other two sleeper agents are dead, though. But it's only been a minute at most since he got…I don't know when he's going to wake up and…" She's babbling a little, trying to relay information while taking in the information given to her. It all starts to cross somewhere in the middle and Owen can hear her fighting not to sob.

"Tosh? Tosh, listen to me," Owen cuts in. He tries to find a balance between being firm and not being a completely heartless bastard. To his surprise, he actually succeeds. "We need to get back to the Hub with both of them. Can you get Jack in the SUV? You're nearer to it than I am."

"Yes," Tosh answers, quietly. Owen can hear the sounds of scraping and the shudders and hitches in her breathing and knows she's already doing as he's asked. "I'll drive to where you are," she says, anticipating his next request.

"Don't sign off, Tosh," Owen says, quickly. "Keep talking to me." He looks back down at Ianto's body and swallows down bile he's hallucinating is actually there. "Keep talking until I see you," he whispers.

Later, when Jack returns from the dead, they're all back at the Hub and Owen, again has to break the news about Ianto. To make things worse, he now has to watch Jack's face this time when he tells him.

* * *

"Owen, you're being paranoid," Tosh says.

"No, I'm not. Jack didn't even like me all that much and he brought me back for the lousy code to the morgue. You think he's not going to try something with Ianto?"

"That wasn't why he brought you back and you know it," Tosh argues.

The two are sitting by Owen's station way past closing. As they talk, their eyes are on the monitor that's feeding them the footage from the CCTV they have rigged up in the morgue. Any guilt Owen feels about spying on Jack while the older man stands by Ianto's laid out corpse is overridden by his desire to not see history repeat itself.

"Both gloves were destroyed," Tosh points out.

"If anyone can find a second set, it's Jack," Owen says, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Wouldn't want Teaboy stealing my undead thunder," he adds. Any acerbic tone he's going for is compromised by the heaviness of his voice. He crosses his arms defiantly at the awkwardness he feels as he watches Jack silently grip Ianto's hand, pressing it to his chest. Jack looks old, as if his body's trying to take on the years that Ianto will now never have.

Tosh starts in her chair when Jack's strained voice comes through the speakers. "Gone 36 hours, six minutes and counting," he whispers to Ianto's body.

"Turn off the sound!" Tosh snaps. Not giving Owen a chance, she leans over and punches a button to mute it. "You can watch him all you want, but give him _some_ privacy."

Owen continues to stare as Jack's lips move. If he tries hard enough, he could probably read them, but he can't bring himself to make the effort. Next to him, Tosh gazes at a point past his shoulder.

"I feel like we should tell Gwen what's happened," Tosh finally murmurs. "They were friends."

"What're we supposed to tell her exactly?" Owen asks, despite knowing Tosh was only senselessly ruminating. "We wish to inform you a person you're not supposed to know about has been killed by an alien you're not supposed to know about?"

"You can be a real bastard sometimes, Owen. Do you know that?" Tosh says with less rancor and more defeat.

"One of us has to be," Owen replies.

Later, long after Tosh goes home, Jack finally comes upstairs and Owen corners him in his office.

He makes Jack promise not to even consider finding a way to bring Ianto back.

"No gloves, no special edition Dogon eye, no…" he hesitates. "No special doctors."

"I won't."

"Swear it. Swear it on the lives of Gwen's unborn kids."

For a second, he's sure Jack's going to punch him, giving him a permanent broken jaw. But Jack only bites out the oath. Then and only then, Owen goes home.

* * *

It takes close to two weeks to pack up all of Ianto's belongings from his apartment to have them be placed in one of Torchwood's storage garages. Both Owen and Tosh know everything would go faster if Jack wouldn't insist of doing it himself. He justifies it with something about the security of possibly sensitive information, as if Ianto's tea kettle might somehow divulge the codes to Torchwood's doors.

They try to juggle their work as best they can on the days Jack's out of the Hub for hours over at Ianto's. They keep any comments to themselves about the general inefficiency of what Jack's doing, letting him hide his grief from them behind walls of fake protocol. Tosh, however, finally snaps one day when Jack neutrally states he won't be boarding up everything into storage as he's found some things he feels might be a danger if it falls into the wrong hands.

"For god's sake, Jack!" she shouts. "If you want to hold onto something of Ianto's just say that's what you're doing! Don't make it about a security issue!"

It takes Jack a few moments before he can scrounge up a cold glare. The expression on his face just before, Owen finds horrible to look at. "I'm not-"

"Yes, you are! You are!" Tosh bowls over him, exhaustion from work and her own grief making her voice sound nearly shrill. When Owen unconsciously reaches out and touches her arm, however, her anger dissipates as quickly as it came. With a sigh, she looks away from Jack, her expression resentful. "I'm going home," she states. "Do whatever you want. You always have, anyway," she mutters.

* * *

After Ianto, there's no question that replacements are needed. A week after his items are put into storage, Jack hires two new team members.

An Indian woman named Nisha Modi, who sports a posh accent and a recent degree from Cambridge is brought in to take over the archives. Owen thinks her painfully young, but she's clever and her photographic memory allows her to memorize the old filing system within a couple of days.

Gwen's replacement comes as a recommend from UNIT. His name is improbably Lewis Gravani, a transplanted Londoner with a British mother and an Italian father. He has an optimistic, enthusiastic approach to most things that's reminiscent of Gwen and it causes Owen to more or less think him a git on spot. Especially since one of the things Lewis does enthusiastically is pursue Tosh.

Unlike the rest of the team before who easily adapted to the shortened moniker, Lewis will only call her 'Toshiko,' stating with mild surprise that 'Tosh' is a slang term for 'rubbish' and she's anything but. Owen isn't sure if he hates him because he's a living, breathing, able to shag man or because he's a living, breathing, able to shag man who seems keen on shagging Tosh, specifically. But it's not like discerning between the two will change anything so Owen chooses not to and be content with just hating Lewis.

He resolutely ignores the signs that Lewis' feelings toward Tosh seem to be genuine. Just as he ignores the conflicted look he sometimes catches on Tosh's face when she's unable to hold back a laugh at something Lewis says to her.

* * *

Owen's feelings toward Lewis aside, it takes the new members about a month to settle in. And for awhile, Owen loses himself to the consistency of work Torchwood has to offer him. The five of them settle into a pattern and while it's of a different kind than it was with Gwen and Ianto, it's still comforting.

And then one day, Owen comes to the Hub and finds Jack gone.

The four of them wait until at least noon and six calls that go straight to voicemail before they start ransacking his office and private room downstairs. All his clothes are still there, save for the ones they saw him wearing the day before and his greatcoat. Nothing is out of place in his office. Jack had simply left again, taking nothing with him other than the items already on his person.

They gather in the conference room, debating on what to do. Tosh generously supposes that maybe Jack's been taken by someone against his will. Before anyone can support or denounce the theory, the communicator at the table sounds.

"It's for you, Owen," Nisha reads off the screen. "It's from UNIT."

When the call's put through, the recognizable voice of Martha Jones sounds through the speakers. "Owen."

"Where is he?!" Owen demands, making the educating guess.

"He had me make a call last night," Martha replies, her normally confident voice now sounding painfully apologetic.

"Call who?" Tosh asks.

There's a pause. "The Doctor."

The two words cast a pall over Owen and Tosh who exchange glances from across the table. Owen has to control himself to not slam a fist down on the communicator and risk broken fingers.

"He left a letter I'm forwarding to you now," Martha continues. "He's made you head of Torchwood Three, effective immediately." She hesitates when only silence greets this news. "Owen…he made me promise not to contact you until he was gone."

Gripping the edge of the table, Owen hangs his head, wishing it was possible for him to take a cleansing breath. Instead, he stares at the grain of the table before lifting his face up to see three pairs of eyes staring back at him. Only Tosh's face looks as hurt as he feels. Straightening up, Owen replies grimly to the communicator.

"Martha?"

"Yeah?"

"If you hear from Jack," he says. "If he gets in touch with you at all, tell him thanks for the promotion. And tell him he can go to hell and stay there. If he tries to crawl his way back in here, I'll lock him up in the vaults and have Gravani shoot him in the head once every hour on the hour."

"Owen…"

"He's not welcome back," he cuts her off. "Thanks. That's it."

There's a pause before Martha says sadly, "I'm sorry."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

I warn that there's a biggish dose of OC in this particular part, but bear with me. The third and last part will be more Classic!Canon!Torchwood.

* * *

Owen's index finger on his left hand is broken to match the pinkie he'd broken years back. But considering the mess he'd created, one broken finger doesn't seem all that bad. He's sitting in the disaster area that was once Jack's office about 20 minutes ago with Tosh.Through the windows, he can see Lewis and Nisha below, awkwardly trying to look like they're still working. 

"Feel better?" Tosh asks, shortly.

Owen looks around at the papers from Jack's drawers he'd thrown to the ground and the coral from his desk he'd smashed on the floor. Bits of it are lying all over the place along with the broken parts of various knick knacks he'd also punched and kicked over in his fury after getting off the call with Martha.

"A bit, yeah," he replies. Owen supposes he's most likely ripped up a dozen important documents he'll need in the future, seeing as how he was now head of Torchwood Three. But it had been worth it. A little.

Tosh gingerly picks her way past the debris to sit by him on the floor by Jack's desk. They sit awhile in silence and Owen knows they must look like abandoned children: lost and resentful now that the one who was supposed to be looking after them was gone. Although, he was pretty sure he was feeling more resentful about it than Tosh.

"He could come back," Tosh says, quietly. There's a tinge of hope in her voice that's pathetically lingering and it makes Owen's earlier anger at Jack flare up again with double the intensity.

"I meant what I said," he growls, kicking out at a fallen book that's by his foot. "He comes back here and I'll have him shot."

"You wouldn't. Not really."

"I would," Owen snaps. "He's swanned off, Tosh. And this is the third time we've had to clean up the shit he's caused!" Climbing to his feet, he begins pacing, every once in awhile lashing out at a wayward object on the floor. "He leaves us to find that bloody doctor of his, forget that the world nearly ended. Then he goes and uses the glove and I have to deal with the fucking consequences. And now he's left again. Never the fuck mind what happens to the rest of us!"

Grabbing the first thing he can get his hand on, Owen hurls it at the window that looks down on the Hub. The stopwatch smashes into pieces against the bulletproof glass, its parts raining down by where Tosh still sits. Owen sees the worried frowns on both Nisha and Lewis' faces as they look up at the sound. From her place on the floor, Tosh vocalizes what Owen won't. At least, not directly.

"We weren't enough for him to stay," she murmurs. "If Gwen was still here…or if Ianto hadn't died…" she trails off.

"Face it, Tosh. We were always the runners up."

He knows the pain he's inflicting on her by laying it out. But he also firmly believes that the sooner she could learn to loathe the missing Captain as much as he does at this moment, the easier it would be to move on.

Walking back over to where she's sitting, Owen slides down next to her, their shoulders now pressed against one another. "Jack's gone."

"Jack's gone," Tosh repeats, sounding a little uncertain, as if testing the statement out.

They sit there for hours without speaking, clutching each other's hands. Owen can't feel the warm of Tosh's fingers as they grip his, but he tries hard to imagine it and it nearly works. It's late in the day when Nisha finally raps on the door to ask if she could start clearing up the chaos Owen's created.

* * *

After it gets officially put through that the head of Torchwood Three is now Dr. Owen Harper, he promotes Tosh as his second-in-command. He also hires out for someone to take over the bulk of the archiving and administrative duties part time as Nisha begins to train up for more field missions. The transition is remarkably smooth and a year soon passes. 

During the year, despite the lack of any real noticeable progress, Lewis continues to court Tosh. Owen might feel less antagonistic about it if Tosh rebuked Lewis or found all the attention overwhelming. But Owen can see she likes it. Her shy delight is often marred by a look of guilt, however. He can see her dark eyes looking over at him sometimes, questioning. She might be waiting for his permission or maybe a blessing that it would be okay. That Owen wouldn't care if her affections for him would be redirected onto Lewis.

But Owen remains silent, refusing to verbally acknowledge her request.

It doesn't make Owen's already poor relationship with Lewis any better. If anything it worsens it, at least from Owen's end. Finally, Lewis brings it up with him when the two are in the autopsy bay. Lewis has a nasty gash from on his arm from a Weevil and it's while Owen sews up the wound that Lewis asks casually if he's right in thinking Owen has no romantic interest in Toshiko.

"You've spent the last year and a half trying to get Tosh to shag you and you're asking me this question now?" Owen demands. His needle and thread movements are noticeably controlled. He might hate Lewis, but out of physician's principle he was going to do a thorough job of this.

"The thing is, Owen," Lewis says, calmly. "As much as I'd adore to get into bed with the bella Toshiko, I'm sort of hoping for a date first. You know, try it the old fashioned way?" he adds, wryly.

Owen snorts. "It's none of my business if you've struck out with her every 900 times."

"But it is," Lewis answers. "She's always liked you best. And she probably always will." Owen just stops himself before he corrects that Tosh used the word 'loved' not 'liked.' He picks up the speed of his sewing to get away as soon as possible. "A one-sided love affair's one thing. But if your feelings are mutual then-"

"It might have slipped by you since your arrival two years back, Gravani, but I'm dead," Owen states, flatly. He pulls in the last stitch. "I'm not in any position to have mutual feelings."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Owen tapes gauze over the stitches with more force than necessary, telling himself he just wants to make sure it's secure. "Tosh can do whatever she likes," he says, putting in as much breeziness into his voice. "If she won't take you up on a dinner than maybe it's a problem with you," he finishes, giving Lewis an exaggerated smile.

Later, Owen waits for some sign from Tosh that Lewis has shared their little conversation with her. But there's no change in her demeanor toward him. It makes Owen consider himself a little bit of a bastard in comparison to Lewis. If the tables had been reversed, he thinks he most likely would have divulged everything.

Things remain, however, very much the same. Tosh spends long hours at the Hub, helping Owen with whatever linger work that's leftover. He need only ask and she's at his side, keeping true to her promise years before that she'd be there if ever he needed her. Owen feels a nasty chunk of triumph when Lewis noticeably dials down his advances toward her. The triumph gets deadened a little though when he catches Tosh looking at Lewis with a slightly wistful expression. But Owen soon blinds himself to it.

Whatever tenacious string Tosh had latched onto Owen all those years ago was still there. It was the same connection that she'd refused to give up even after he'd died, come back and done his best to sever years before. Now, he stubbornly holds onto it as something that can stay with him as he remains the same while all else moves onward.

* * *

Christmas is a busy day for Torchwood for an entirely different set of non-merrymaking reasons. Since the mid 21st century, the UK never fared well when it came to Christmas Day and Owen holds to the tradition of all previous Torchwood leaders that December the 25th is to be considered a day of high alert. It's a fleet of hybrid land fish this year and the short, but intensive battle ends up being dragged into the Bay. Owen finds his not needing to breathe comes in particularly handy during the fight. 

By the time the skirmish is over with a win for the humans, everyone is soaked to the bone. The frigid Cardiff weather along with the wet clothing has them all shivering, except Owen who finds his inability to sense temperature also a big bonus.

"S-s-so not f-fair," Nisha chatters while trying to vigorously rub some feeling into her arms back at the Hub. She eyes Owen who is in no real hurry to dry off and is idly waiting for his hair to defrost so as not to chip off.

"Oi, I'm dead," Owen counters. "Give me something to enjoy about it. That was almost a laugh."

"Yes, we're nearly overrun by alien fish people, but as long as you're having _fun_," Tosh says from under the towel Lewis has given her. But she's smiling at his obvious enjoyment.

Feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous, Owen let's everyone leave early now that the big invasion's come and gone. A testament to her youth, Nisha suggests they all go for a night out, despite pneumonia being around the corner for most of them. "It's a holiday. We should be out."

"All I want is a hot shower and my bed," Tosh sighs, already half way there mentally.

Nisha looks at both Owen and Lewis, expectantly.

"Remember last New Year's when you made me drink that bottle of champagne?" Owen reminds, inducing a wince from everyone. "You really want to see that party trick again?"

"I'll go with you," Lewis accepts. "I need a drink to warm up after that."

Gathering up their things, the two are making a quick retreat for the doors. "Oi, mobiles on!" Owen calls after them.

"Right, right." Nisha waves hers as an affirmative. "Call us if you change your mind, both of you."

Owen catches Lewis putting a hand to Tosh's shoulder as he walks by her. He hesitates for a moment, before he gives her a fond smile. "Sure you don't want to come?" he asks.

The pause Owen hears before Tosh replies is terribly loud. "No, but thanks, Lewis," she answers.

Despite having already predicted it, Lewis still looks disappointed if resigned. He gives her a quick one-armed hug instead. "Okay, then. Happy Christmas, Toshiko."

"Going home soon?" Tosh asks Owen after Nisha and Lewis are gone.

"After I get through nine hundred emails," Owen says, staring at his computer screen. "The new PM's a right arse," he grouches. "He really wants me to sit in on a lousy protocol meeting? No, sorry," Owen reads out as he types his reply. "Scheduled time conflicts with a previous appointment to save the bloody world…send."

"Want to come 'round to mine afterwards?" Tosh offers. In the past two years, Owen had spent more time over at Tosh's apartment than his. It never went beyond simple conversations or a casual movie watching. And as it never could, Owen didn't put much thought into whether or not he wanted it to.

"I'll be hours at this, Tosh," he gestures to his screen. "I'd just call it a night if I were you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

The next day, Boxing Day, is filled with people recovering from hangovers from the night before. One of them happens to be Nisha and Owen doesn't miss the chance to make fun of her for it. 

"Oh, shut up, Owen," Nisha moans by her desk.

"Can't!" Owen says all too loudly. "I've held the job of torturing the archivist since I started here. It's tradition, Modi."

The glee that's built up in Owen soon deflates when the cog door peels open. Lewis and Tosh walk in, chatting quietly to one another. And while that's not unusual, there's something in the way they lean toward each other and in the way Lewis guides Tosh to her station with a hand on her back that Owen knows they've slept together.

There's a distinct lack of awkwardness from Tosh when she greets Owen in his office with a report for him to sign off on. And somehow that pisses him off a lot more than anything else.

"Good night?" he asks, not caring that he's sounding petulant.

"Yes," she answers before a thoughtful look crosses her face. "Maybe not completely," she amends.

Owen snorts. "Gravani that much of a crap shag?"

Tosh doesn't rise to the bait and only infuriatingly puts her report on Owen's desk. She then, however, walks around to where he sits and unexpectedly wraps her arms around him.

"Tosh, what're you doing?" Owen asks, staring over her shoulder.

"I'm giving you a hug."

Owen fights the urge to shove at her. "You giving me a pity hug?"

"No. Just a hug," Tosh says, quietly. Soon she backs away, not meeting Owen's confused, angered stare.

* * *

Years roll by and it feels to Owen that time's speeding up on purpose just to rub it in his face that he could never hope to catch up to it. Everyone ages around him. Back when Owen was 17, young, brash and even more insolent than he was at 27, he always dreamed he'd be young forever. Now, he's close to 57, technically and his boyhood dream came true as a nightmare. 

Tosh's hair has started to silver. Fine lines are now present around her eyes. Laugh lines caused by Lewis Gravani. As irrational as it is, Owen can't forgive Tosh for choosing Lewis. At least not completely. Every invitation she extends out to him he rejects, even when it would just be the two of them. Any offer she makes to stay behind to help him at work he turns down. Soon, Tosh extends a standing invitation that if Owen ever needs to talk to her about anything, day or night, she'll be there.

Owen never takes her up on it. Not even when he forgets himself a moment and closes his eyes, throwing himself into the darkness, causing him to panic. He knows it's stupid really. All he has to do is open his eyes to escape and yet there are sometimes when he forgets that's what he has to do.

* * *

Tosh retires at the age of 60, which is an impressive number by Torchwood standards. Even through his lingering resentment, Owen feels an inordinate amount of pride toward her. "Torchwood didn't defeat you," he tells her on her last day. 

Tosh informs him she's moving to London now to join Lewis. Despite Lewis having transferred back to UNIT almost 5 years back, they'd managed to keep their relationship going since that fateful Boxing Day.

"Will you come visit?" she asks.

"Sure," Owen answers a little too quickly. It's clear by Tosh's expression that she knows he never will. But she gives him a bright smile nonetheless, which frustrates Owen for the millionth time. No matter what behavior he threw at her in the last several years, she'd always just stand there, smiling. But it's her last day and he wants to make the effort to not completely ruin it for her. So instead he smiles back as they both pretend and go through the motions.

* * *

The thing for Owen about basic immortality is that it makes him put off trying to mature as a person. Sure, he could no longer drink, smoke, eat, or shag in excess as he used to when he was in his late 20's. But he didn't let the loss of those things stop his emotional pettiness. 

Now that Tosh is gone from Torchwood, Owen rarely speaks to her, much less see her. They exchange emails once in awhile. Hers are flowing with descriptions, questions, and general content. His are, at best, enough sentences to constitute a full paragraph.

Meanwhile, Torchwood Three flourishes. There's talk of expanding and adding two more operations in Wales alone. Nisha, now Owen's second in command, is practically salivating at the idea and Owen happily turns the details over to her along with his job. Despite deserving the promotion, Nisha argues against it, demanding to know why Owen's leaving.

"You can't slip out without saying why," she says as the two sit in Owen's office, now soon to be hers. "Don't just go like Harkness."

It's been years since Owen's heard that name. It brings back a flood of memories and it crystallizes for him exactly why he's leaving. He gazes at Nisha, now in her late 40's and looking old enough to be a young aunt to him.

"Did anyone ever tell you about the person you replaced when you first came here?" he asks her.

"Well, I read his file when I first got here to familiarize myself with the archives," Nisha replies. "Ianto Jones. Born March 28th 1981. Died November 4th 2011," she lists, her photographic memory recalling something she read decades ago. It never ceases to amaze Owen.

"That's right," he nods. "God, he used to get on my last nerve. He wore a suit to work everyday like a proper prat. And you couldn't even order a bloody stapler through him unless you filled out a manual first."

"We do all that electronically now," Nisha says, looking unsure as to why Owen was bringing this up.

"It's like he knew all the buttons to press to get me in a wind up," Owen continues, oblivious to her confusion. "To add insult to injury, I had to be the one to walk in on him and Harkness shagging in the old greenhouse."

"What?"

Owen grins. "Yeah, bet his file didn't mention that." Nisha silently shakes her head. "It was just after Gwen's wedding."

"Gwen Cooper?" Nisha asks, recognizing the name.

"Gwen Williams," Owen corrects. "She used to drive me crazy too in a completely different way." A wistful, somewhat distant look crosses Owen's face. "Come to think of it….I'm pretty sure when we were shagging, we did it in the greenhouse as well. Only back then it was a storage room."

"Uh…Owen? Why are you telling me all of this?" Nisha asks.

"Because you wanted to know why I'm leaving," he answers, seriously.

"You've lost me."

"I still think about them, Nisha," he says. "It's been years and even when I look at the way Gwen does now…more and more I keep expecting her to show up, looking the way she used to. I'm wondering these days where Ianto's managed to hide the coffee machine."

"Owen, things change," Nisha says, her patient tone erring just on the side of sympathetic, rather than patronizing.

"I don't," he points out. "You'd be amazed at how hard it is to let go of the past when you still look like your past."

Gwen was gone, living the happy life of a mother of four, blissfully unaware she'd ever fought a thing called a Weevil. Ianto was dead, leaving behind a body still locked up in their storage. Tosh had moved on to finally enjoy a life apart from work or saving the world. These were no longer the people as Owen knew them to be. Torchwood Three as he knew it, had faded away.

And Jack…Owen mentally skipped over Jack. Again, emotional pettiness winning the day.

"It's time to go for me," Owen states. "Time for a change of scenery."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who read and left such generous comments. I really appreciate all the feedback. It really helped me in writing my first multi-part Torchwood fic.

* * *

Torchwood Three keeps Owen on as a freelance consultant with a lucrative retainer worked into his contract. Nisha Modi justifies it by stating that undoubtedly at this point, Owen has more experience with alien autopsies than any other doctor in any branch at Torchwood. Owen supposes it's a compliment, only it makes him feel like a fossil. But he accepts it as the money's good. One always needs money, even if things like food, drink and general hygiene products are no longer a part of the budget. 

Ten years go by and during that time, Owen travels a bit, helps save the world a few more times, trains a bulk of the incoming, still eager doctors Torchwood hires, and enjoys one of the remaining senses he has left at his disposal by reading a few thousand books and watching a few thousand movies. He assesses there's a lot of rubbish out there. 

Tosh continues to email him. Usually cheerful messages, asking him again and again when he might come for a visit in London. If he can bring himself to reply, it's usually with neutral statements, stripped of any personality. But still, just about every week he opens his computer to see a message in there from her. 

One day, he receives an email from Tosh telling him that Lewis Gravani's passed away. In his sleep, very peacefully, at the age of 76. Owen reads it over a few times. And then deletes it from his inbox without a reply. After that, he never gets another email from her.

* * *

Tosh is 88 when Owen sees her again. By then her hair is pure white and while always diminutive, she now looks tiny amongst all the medical equipment surrounding her. Owen never got why it was with all the technological advances humans have made in the medical field, no one ever bothered to streamline the aesthetic look of the equipment. Despite being a doctor, the way Tosh looks encircled by everything still upsets him. 

88 is a good old age, Owen tells himself. But for what exactly? To die? To go into the darkness? To go where there was nothing? To become nothing? 88 years wasn't enough. 

Her body is failing but Tosh's mind is still razor sharp and she smiles when she sees Owen sitting by her, looking young as ever. 

"Your ear," she notices, not sounding surprised.

"Plathorian bit it half off," Owen answers, touching at the mostly mangled lump of flesh on the left side of his head. "Didn't even notice 'til the berk I saved from becoming lunch started screaming and pointing." 

When Tosh laughs, she sounds exactly the way Owen remembers. The sound is significantly weaker and thinner, but at its smallest, atomic elements, the laugh is hers. Tosh is still with him and Owen takes her hand, grateful for once that he can barely feel it. Barely feel how fragile it must be in his. He runs a thumb over where he assumed a wedding band should be. 

"He asked. But we never did," Tosh says, guessing his question at the gesture. "Never felt like the right time." 

Owen knows she and Lewis never had any children either. When Tosh goes, she would be leaving behind a scientific legacy with all the papers she's written. But there will be nothing that's a lingering, physical part of her. 

"I'm should have answered you when you told me about him," Owen says, quietly. "I was being an ass." 

"You were," Tosh confirms. "But it's good to see you again anyway." 

"Half a century and you're still letting me get away with shit," Owen grunts, shifting in his chair. Tosh's patience with him had remained endless after that Boxing Day and to this very moment, he can never understand why she put up with any of it. 

"Thought I might have seen you at Gwen's funeral," Tosh muses.

"Yeah, don't really do funerals." He had visited her grave though a few months afterward. It was still being lovingly tended by one of Gwen's many grandchildren. 

"You don't do weddings, flowers, apologies and now no funerals either?" 

It's meant to lighten up the situation and normally, Owen's only too happy to shove aside any potentially emotional scene with a joke. Only he can't think of one and he can't think of a plausible reason why he should laugh at what Tosh has just said. Minutes stretch by and when Tosh speaks again, her voice is even more strained and nakedly vulnerable. 

"Owen, I'm scared," she confesses, repeating back to him what he'd once told her. "I'm trapped in this old thing," she says, her eyes roving downward toward her own, elderly body. "But I don't want to let it go…not yet." 

Owen grips her hand, imaging all of this might be a little better if he could actually offer a warm human touch, rather than his cool dead fingers. "It's okay," he assures. "You're still here, aren't you? You're not gonna take off when I've finally made all this effort to drag myself to London," he adds, finally mustering up a grin. 

Tosh gives him a small smile, her eyes drifting toward the window by her bed. "It's silly," she murmurs. "I was hoping to see Jack again too before." When Owen scowls at this, she lolls her head a little as if to give a stern shake. "If you see him again, tell him I said hi. And…well…bye, too. Please." 

"Yeah, alright," he mutters. "I'll do that." 

"Don't shoot him." 

"Do I have to promise?"

Tosh sighs, closing her eyes. "Yes."

"Fine," he gives in, grudgingly. "I won't shoot the utter bastard."

"Thanks, Owen. You're a good friend," she whispers after a bit.

Somehow the statement kills what little strength Owen's mustered. "Tosh, I'm probably the most crap friend you've ever had," he states with weighted regret. "I've never done a thing for you the entire time I've known you." 

"That's not true." 

"No, it really is." Owen refuses to budge on this, feeling guilt that starts at not responding to her email about Lewis and working its way backwards. For not ever visiting her in London, for not being better about her choice to have an actual life, for not letting her go sooner and giving her just a little more time with Lewis from the start, for not being kinder in general. "I'm…" It's physically impossible for him to cry and that's a very good thing at the moment.

He feels Tosh pull at his hand a little, forcing him to look up from his intense stare of his knees. She's smiling again, her eyes closed for a long due nap. "I'll see you in a bit," she tells him. 

Owen wonders if she's asking him to leave, but before he could question her about it, she's fallen asleep. So he decides to stay put and wait until she wakes up to resume their conversation.

But she doesn't wake up again and passes away quietly a half day later.

* * *

Almost 70 years to the day of his resurrection, Owen feels something for the first time. Truly _feels_ a sensation. He's grown so unaccustomed to such things that when it hits him, he's not entirely sure what it is exactly. And then a faint memory catches up to him. 

He has a stiff neck. 

Having exercised militantly for the past several decades to successfully ward of rigor mortis, he can't imagine why now he would suddenly get a stiff joint. Digging around his crowded apartment, filled with 70 years worth of stuff, he finds the scanner Torchwood had given him years back and waves it over himself. The readings give him his answer. The borrowed energy that's been keeping him going all these years is now barely detectable. He's running out of fuel. It seems that after all this time, his delayed death is now about to finally come in. 

Owen knows he should probably get his affairs in order. Make arrangements for what to do with his body and all, but instead he goes for a walk.

Nearly a hundred years and the landscape of Cardiff has altered, even though certain characteristics remain the same as all cities have a tendency to do. He ends up wandering to where he'd once met Maggie, up on the roof of a warehouse. The space was converted at some point into an open garden by some famous architect Owen can't remember the name of. He sits on the ledge as he'd done once before, staring out toward the city he'd often bitched about when he'd been alive and in his death, he'd decided never to leave.

After a few minutes, Owen hears footsteps behind him and rolls his eyes a little at the notion of timely entrances. Twisting around, he sees him. It's impossible to tell how many years it's been for Jack. He looks exactly the same, but for all Owen knows, he could have been gone 10 years or 10 minutes, his time.

"Looking good, Owen," Jack says with expert flippancy, taking a seat next to him.

"Figures you'd come back when I no longer have the authority to shoot you."

"Never stopped you before."

"I promised Tosh I wouldn't. And anyway I haven't got a gun on me. She says hi, by the way. And bye," he adds. "She wanted to see you before she died." He resentfully stresses the last word, perfectly fine with the fact that 70 years hadn't dented his anger toward the wayward Captain.

"I'm sorry," he hears Jack apologize, quietly.

"Yeah, you're sorry," Owen growls. "You're sorry you weren't there when Tosh died. You're sorry you abandoned us." When Jack doesn't answer, it deflates Owen a little. He'd sigh if he could. "I know we were second class citizens on the team, Harkness, but did you really have to demonstrate it by leaving after Gwen and Ianto were gone?"

Jack stares at him, his eyes surprised. "Owen, you and Tosh weren't-"

"Don't give me that load of bollocks," Owen snaps. "So what'd you do on your trip out with the Doctor? Go back in time and stalk Gwen when she was still single? Go have a last shag with Ianto and then retcon it out of him?" He's shouting now and barely notices.

Jack doesn't look contrite exactly. But he no longer has that all confident sheen Owen remembers him having. "I left because I thought if I stayed…" he trails off for a minute. "I didn't think I was a good enough leader for you and Tosh. Not anymore," he finally responds. "I thought I'd get you two killed."

Owen just stops himself from pointing out he'd already been killed by that time. "You could have bloody ASKED us about it before taking off," he retorts instead, refusing to give in.

A smile ghosts across Jack's face. "The Doctor said the same thing when I saw him again."

"So why didn't you?" demands Owen. Now Jack does look contrite. "Christ, I'm right, aren't I? You really did go back to stalk them."

"I wasn't ready to let go yet," Jack admits. "I couldn't say goodbye. Years I've been saying it but…" He grins a low wattage version of his usual smile. "You lot always got under my skin somehow."

Despite himself, Owen feels a small, wriggling sense of sympathy. In the years, he's said goodbye to Nisha Modi and others in his life. But none of them had been as affecting as when he'd had to say goodbye to Gwen or Tosh or even Ianto. All three had left him differently and yet all three goodbyes had felt so incomplete, unfinished.

"So what'd you do?" Owen inquires. "Where'd you go?"

"Lots of places."

"And the Doctor was cool with chauffering you around?" Owen asks, incredulously.

"Oh, hell, no! I had to help him save the universe half a dozen times before he'd take me anywhere." Owen snorts a laugh. "But no matter where I went, I always circled back to this place. See you all when you were young and-"

"Alive?" Owen supplies, helpfully.

"I was going to say 'bright-eyed' but sure."

"So were you able to let go?"

A grim expression settles on Jack's face that Owen can barely see out of the corner of his eye. "I had to," he replies. The strained tone launches Owen back to that time he and Tosh had spied on Jack in the morgue. "The thing is, the past was over and there was nothing I could do."

He notices Jack gripping the edges of the ledge, the darkened blue eyes staring out into the lights of the city. "I was horrible to them," he hears Jack confess, guilt weighing down his voice. "I said awful things to Gwen the day she left. I never told Ianto half the things I should have when he was alive. When I went back, I could see them before all of it. But it was still too late, anyway. The future had happened and I couldn't change that. I couldn't tell them sorry."

"No famous last words," Owen mutters quietly, seeing Tosh's aged, sleeping face in front of him before she'd died.

"No famous last words," Jack affirms. "They're rarer than an Arcadian diamond. But," he amends with a light clap of his hands. "They do exist. If you look hard enough."

Owen gives him a wary look. "You didn't actually go back in time for a last shag with Ianto, did you?" He's only half joking.

"No," Jack answers faintly, for once not taking up the sexual angle of a topic. "I couldn't even find a pocket of time where I could talk to him without messing up the time lines." Catching himself before he slid back to darker memories, Jack flashes his teeth and moves back to more familiar ground, "I was aiming for around late 2009, though because I remember it was after 2008 that I'd taught Ianto this-"

Owen lifts an interrupting hand. "Look, no offense Jack, but I could go at any moment. I really don't want the last thing I hear be you bragging about sex."

The wolfish grin morphs into something significantly less fake. "I know. About you and your energy level."

"Oh, no. You're not here to bring me back again, are you?"

Jack shakes his head. "No, I wanted to give you this."

He's extending an arm out to Owen, in his hand is the familiar leather strap. Owen stares at it, noting it looks odd and different when not attached to Jack's arm. "You're giving me your wrist strap?"

"I had the Doctor fix it. It's supposed to let you travel in time."

"He actually did that for you?" Owen asks in disbelief. "What is he? The Time Traveling Father Christmas? He's letting you run around with this?"

"It's only got one trip left in it," Jack says. "It's kind of old. And he knew it wasn't for me. It's for you. And I gave a very high recommendation on your character."

"So you lied?"

Jack laughs. "I didn't lie, Owen. It's the truth. I've seen the work you did for Torchwood the last several years. You wouldn't be stupid with what I'm giving you."

Owen doesn't take the gift, continuing to stare at Jack's hand like it's holding a bomb. "Why would I want that?" he asks, hoarsely. "You said so yourself you couldn't change the past. Why would I want to see that?"

"You don't have to," Jack answers. "You don't have to use it if you don't want to. But I saw the past and even when I couldn't change it, just seeing it…" A third type of smile, soft, genuine and reminiscing lifted the corners of Jack's mouth. "It helped."

Tentatively, Owen thinks about what he could catch a one last glimpse of before dying. Watch himself at university, brimming with potential for the future. Spy himself out on a night, being alive. Catch him having a friendly drink with Tosh.

Tosh.

Suddenly, the past several years open up to Owen. They race backwards and as Tosh grows younger, snatches of conversation they had filter back to him.  
_  
"I've never done a thing for you the entire time I've known you."   
"That's not true."   
"I'm…"  
"I'll see you in a bit."_

He's back at his desk on that Boxing Day and Tosh is giving him a hug. Owen blinks against the memory. Finally, he sees what had happened. What will happen. What that hug meant. And everything makes such crystal clear sense that Owen almost laughs.

He takes the wrist strap.

"Thanks, Jack," he says, sincerely.

When he looks at his former boss, he can tell there's a longer conversation he knows Jack wants to have with him. Most likely filled with apologies and inappropriate stories. And had Owen the time, he would give Jack a chance at last words. But he has to weigh his priorities and Tosh won that contest, no question.

"Take care, Owen," Jack tells him, kindly. "Do you know where you want to go?"

Owen nods. "Christmas Day. 2012."

* * *

Owen remembers Tommy Brockless, the frozen soldier from the 1900's. Jack told Tommy, the night before they sent him back to his own era to save the world, that his life would be like a thread, stitching time back together. Owen wouldn't be doing anything quite as monumental. But he would be doing something for Tosh and that felt important enough.

When Tosh opens the door, her hair is still wet from the shower. She looks so young and alive and absolutely perfect that Owen nearly trips walking in without waiting for an invitation.

"Owen? What's happened? I didn't hear the Rift alarm on my phone," she says, hurriedly. Already she's toweling hair to dry it quickly in anticipation that she has to rush back to the Hub. Owen stops her by grasping onto her wrist.

"It's fine, nothing's wrong," he assures.

"Oh. Well…that's good," Tosh says awkward, as if now just realizing she's only in her bathrobe. "So, why're you here then?" Owen can see the mild anxiety on her face deepen as he doesn't answer, but continue to stare at her. He's pretty sure he's wasting valuable time as he could drop dead at any moment, but he hasn't felt this pleased to see a person in so long, he wants to enjoy the sensation a little longer.

"Owen?"

"Tosh," he finally answers. "You know I'm a prat, right?"

"I…what?"

"A prat," he repeats. "A complete and utter one."

Tosh frowns. "Owen, why're you…" Her eyes fall to his hand and sees what's on his wrist. "Is that…? That's Jack's!" she exclaims. "Is he here? Did he come back?" Her eyes are bright, excited. Owen shakes his head. "But how did you get his wrist strap? That is his…" Her voice trails off and she suddenly studies him closely. "What happened to your ear?" she demands, seeing the wound that hadn't been there back in 2012.

"I'll explain it to you later," Owen replies, knowing one day he would.

Tosh's eyes double in size as she puts together the wound with the wrist strap and his odd behavior. "Oh my god."

_Clever Tosh,_ Owen thinks fondly.

"You can't be here!" she exclaims. "If you're from the future your presence could damage reality."

"Oh, sod reality for two minutes," Owen waves off.

"Owen!"

"Tosh, stop worrying for a minute, will you, and listen to me," Owen orders. Taking her by the shoulders he leads her to the sofa to sit down. "I don't think I have that much time and I want to make sure I do this."

"What do you mean, not much time?" Tosh cuts in.

"Never mind that. Listen to me," Owen says, firmly. "The younger me back at the Hub is too much of a wanker to do it, so it's up to me." Tosh stares at him in anticipation, her attention focused. "You need to go and accept that drink invitation with Lewis Gravani."

"What?" laughs Tosh, incredulously. "You came all the way back from the future to tell me to go have a drink with Lewis?"

"No, it's not just about a drink," Owen says, irritably. "It's about you, moving on. Going after what you want and not looking over your shoulder. I knew…now…back then which is now," he corrects, silently cursing time travel mucking up his sentences. "I knew you were waiting for me to tell you what to do. To tell you it was okay. So I'm telling you, right now, go. It's okay."

Tosh is staring at him as if she doesn't recognize him and Owen supposes she doesn't because the only Owen she knows of now would never do something like this. It seemed after nearly a hundred years, he'd finally grown up a little. Just in time before he went.

"So, hurry up," Owen orders. "Dry your hair, put on something gorgeous and make the call."

"What did you mean, not much time?" Tosh asks instead.

"Christ, did you hear a word I just said?" Owen demands. Being selfless was a lot more difficult than he thought. At least the mechanics of it.

"I heard you," says Tosh, her voice measured. "I want to know what you mean, not much time."

Owen's shoulders sag a little in the semblance of an exasperated sigh, giving in. "The energy I borrowed through the glove. It's almost run out. I finally get to die." The more time goes by, the more the stiffness in Owen's neck spreads. The joints in his body feel rusty, his bones feel heavier. Tosh stares at him a minute and he sees the tears welling up in her dark eyes. "Hey, Tosh, come on," he says, softly. "Don't be like that. Look, when you go to the Hub tomorrow, I'll be there. Raging jealousy over you and Gravani and all, right?"

He realizes now that the embrace Tosh had given him back then was far from a pity hug. She'd been simply happy to see him again, affirming that he was still with her.

_"Good night?"  
"Yes. Maybe not completely."_

"How can I keep this a secret from you?" asks Tosh, tearfully. "When I see you, how can I…"

"You will," Owen assures her, firmly. "You do."

"I never give it away you came to see me tonight?" Tosh asks, skeptically.

"Trust me, I'm too thick right now to figure it out."

Despite his assurances, tears start to fall down Tosh's face as she grips Owen's hand.

"I better go," Owen starts, but Tosh only pulls him back down. "Tosh, I really don't think you want me to drop dead in your living room."

"I don't care," Tosh snaps. Taking a deep breath, she wipes at her cheeks and sniffs once before straighten her shoulders to look at him, squarely. "Stay here."

"What're you going to do with my body after I go?" Owen reasons.

"What're you going to do when you go and your body drops down in the middle of the street?" Tosh reasons right back, not missing a beat.

"You need to find Gravani," Owen insists.

"It's early," Tosh points out, looking at her clock. "I'll find him later."

"Tosh…"

"Do you want to leave?" she challenges him.

Owen opens his mouth to argue, but he finds he's still here in Tosh's apartment in 2012. That must mean the time line hadn't changed. Somehow Tosh and Lewis do get together tonight, as Owen knew it should be. Even if he still remembered how angry he had been about it back in 2012. God, he really had been a prat.

And no, he really doesn't want to go.

He thinks about shifting his position on Tosh's sofa, but his joints feel incredibly stiff now and the effort feels pointless. Instead, he leans back and tilts toward Tosh when she inches closer to him, her head against his shoulder. He forces his arm to lift so that he can wrap it around her.

"Owen…" Tosh whispers next to him. "Thank you."

He tightens his hold on her a moment and then relaxes.

He can't feel her, but he knows Tosh is there as she's always been. Her presence is soothing and Owen's missed it for so long that he leans all the more into her, imagining the warmth of her body against his. Looking down at her upturned face, he takes one last look for the road.

Pressing his head to hers, Owen closes his eyes.

THE END 


End file.
